Do Not Go Gentle
by AmazingGraceless
Summary: Ginny Weasley muses on how the Order of the Phoenix lost to Tom Riddle. Quidditch League, Voldemort Wins! AU, answers what the Order of the Phoenix did. 912 words.


People talked about how the light went out when You-Know-Who rose to power. I don't think so. I think the light went out later. I remember a time, long ago, when we weren't ruled by You-Know-Who. I remember a time when I knew him as Tom Riddle, my only friend. I remember a time when we hoped for Harry Potter.

It was foolish, yes, but our last hope was Harry Potter. The Boy-Who-Lived was the sun fighting against the oncoming night- but as that one muggle poet said- "Wise Men know the dark is right." We didn't go gentle, though. After all, You-Know-Who's reign was not a good night.

First went the wise men, some of the people I looked up to most. Dumbledore was killed on the clock tower. McGonagall was murdered senselessly by Snape. Snape died by Riddle's own snake. Kingsley couldn't protect the Minister for much longer, and both of them died in the lobby of the muggle Ministry Building. They called it an accident then, but that was before magic was revealed to them.

Next went the good men I'd never realized were as good as they were until they were gone. Hagrid was killed for refusing to serve Riddle, killed by his own half-brother. Lupin died with Tonks at the Battle of Hogwarts- V-Day for- whoops, I almost said it. Andromeda Black. . . She might not have died, but something in her did when she had to raise her grandson only a few days out of his infancy. Neville, one of my best friends, died resisting him in front of a crowd.

I started crying when the good men and women died. I wasn't much of a crier, never have been- the world eats you up alive when you show your heart. In that week, my heart died with everyone else's. We could only blink at each other- wide-eyed children who grew up too soon- and cry, because who would want to live in this world of cruelty and death beyond our imagination?

The third wave was consisted of wild men. They were those who did not care anymore. They came screaming when the regime began- it's so easy to think how I could've died,being one of them. We hexed and cursed without care to what or who was in front of us. The Carrows trained us in their weapons- we just showed them what they had taught us. How's that for irony? Heh.

Sorry, I just never do really laugh anymore. Most don't. Even George doesn't laugh anymore. After all, what good is it, laughing, when the world is so cruel? What good is it to laugh, when the wild warriors who laughed hysterically as they cursed the Carrows, the Malfoys, the Rosiers into oblivion with looks beyond the human- when they couldn't survive for all their laughing.

Some sing now, sing for the absence of laughter and tears that haunts the streets, the buildings, the homes of Britain, Ireland, Scotland, and Wales. I couldn't sing worth a damn, not like my mother could. My mother. . .

All that's left is the grace men. Most of us resisted at first-but now? Now we go gently into the night. Now we behave, like we never wanted to. Like I never wanted to. It disgusts me. It disgusts me that they've made us into their slaves, their playthings, their soldiers. We're here for them to make suffer as they lord over us, declaring the purity of their blood- bullshit, I call it.

I was all of those men, once- well, women. I was once wild, good, and wise- I suppose, since I led a revolution for those who the adults, the Order of the Phoenix couldn't help.

I feel like I shouldn't be so harsh on them- not with the two waves of the Order dead and gone. Then again, history will be harsher. They tried, yes, oh Merlin they tried. But they were pinning all their hopes on a Chosen One who could lead us into the glorious dawn wearing shining armor and riding upon his white unicorn. I had those dreams once, too, when I was an eleven-year-old girl with childish fantasies.

The Order disappeared after their poster boy died. Too much light died with him, I suppose. I saw the dead Potter, the last Potter. He was just a kid- all of us were. There was a time when I pinned all my hopes and dreams on him, too. I was a scared kid then- I hadn't yet become the leader of Dumbledore's Army, Neville and Luna at my side. I hadn't yet cast my first Unforgiveable. I hadn't yet discovered my affinity with the Bat-Bogey Hex. I hadn't yet kissed a boy or a girl.

I grew up, I evolved to the face the Dark Lord. The Order of the Phoenix stayed the same, as Dumbledore would've commanded it in case of death. That's the thing, too- my family might've worshipped Dumbledore, and some of them still do- but I never will. My belief was shattered when I was possessed and he couldn't figure it out, couldn't help me. Dumbledore was mad, I think now. Especially for pinning everyone's future on one kid.

I'm just a grave woman now- woman, I can't believe that I'm of age now. I'm a grave woman who will not go gently into Voldemort's night.


End file.
